


Makeshift Love

by Himitsu_no



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Aziraphale is not that bad actually, Because Crowley has an imagination, Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), F/M, Female OC but hear me out, M/M, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21870514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himitsu_no/pseuds/Himitsu_no
Summary: He hadn’t wanted a great deal of things then. Just a few – the world not to end, a cigarette. For his car to stop playing Queen every once in a while, and a certain someone. A handful of things he could live without, one he didn’t believe he could.She was a nun there at the convent, with a very specific task.“Modify me to whatever you wish. Whomever you wish. I live to serve you.”He scoffed. He’d always found religious folk rather stupid, ridiculous even, and this was no exception.Crowley put his hands around her throat and squeezed – not enough to hurt, a mere show of power. A slight menace. Her eyes didn’t widen.“Show me what you want me to say, master Crowley,” she whispered in a voice entirely too familiar, and it shook him to his core. Another whim, and she was all white-blonde hair, thick thighs. Creamy and pale, soft skin.“It’s just ‘Crowley’,” he whispered back.It was as if she knew.“Crowley. Dearest.”It was all it took.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/OC
Comments: 55
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed, sorry for any mistakes.

“Tell me what you want to hear, and I’ll say it,” the Temptress said. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you.”

“You can’t give me what I want.”

“But we sure can pretend, can’t we.”

When times got particularly hard, he found her. Whether in Tadfield, where they’d first met, or in London, where he often saw her on the streets. He'd stop on a busy street and find her staring at him in the middle of the crowd. Almost as if she lurked in broad daylight, waiting for him to need her. To _want_ her.

Once upon a time, a distressed demon delivered a baby in a wicker basket. He hadn’t wanted a great deal of things then. Just a few – the world not to end, a cigarette. For his car to stop playing Queen every once in a while, and a certain someone. A handful of things he could live without, one he didn’t believe he could.

She was a nun there at the convent, with a very specific task.

“Modify me to whatever you wish. Whomever you wish. I live to serve you.”

He scoffed. He’d always found religious folk rather stupid, ridiculous even, and this was no exception. 

Crowley put his hands around her throat and squeezed – not enough to hurt, a mere show of power. A slight menace. Her eyes didn’t widen.

“Show me what you want me to say, master Crowley,” she whispered in a voice entirely too familiar, and it shook him to his core. Another whim, and she was all white-blonde hair, thick thighs. Creamy and pale, soft skin.

“It’s just ‘Crowley’,” he whispered back.

It was as if she knew.

“Crowley. _Dearest._ ”

It was all it took.

Many years later, he was drawing up a plan in his mind – a mess of fear and determination and his usual wit for mischief and he bumped against someone with enough force to throw them to the ground. The demon apologized and offered his hand.

Belatedly, he recognized her, in dark blue hair and green eyes. “Y- you! Are you… the, the, the- Temp-“

“Naomi,” she offered and accepted his outstretched hand.

“Naomi,” he repeated, with the sort of wonder of one meeting an old acquaintance. “Right. You alright?”

“Better now.”

Crowley scoffed.

“You, uh- living in London?”

“A few years now.”

“I see.”

“You want to ask if I’m still available? The answer is yes.”

“No. No, no, that’s not- it’s not- I’m…”

“Come now, it’s almost lunch. Let’s eat.”

“Can’t, I uh—I’m- I’m meeting a- a- **friend** ,” his words rushed awkwardly and his finger pointed at the bookshop on their own accord. “Can’t cancel that.”

“Oh,” she knew. “Ok, then,” she knew. “I understand,” of course she knew. “Later, then?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, absolutely. Let’s, uh- catch up.” What was he even saying? Why did he speak like a human? Pitiful.

She smirked. “ _Catch up_. Sure.”

“That’s not- it’s not- I- not what I meant.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind it,” she reassured as she reached into her purse for a pad and pen. “In fact,” she scribbled, “I’ll look forward to it.”

“Are you alright, my dear? You’re awfully quiet today.”

“Ngh.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, just… quiet. Leave me be, angel, I’m alright.”

“If you insist. Know I am here, my dear.”

He wanted to smile, but it only hurt hurt hurt.

So, again, he memorized all the details he could – the soft curves of his face, the way his skin refracted light. His eyelids and the way his smiles reached his eyes first. The way his hair curled around his earlobe, the specific tone of the hair on his neck and his knuckles. The thickness of his fingers and apparent softness of his hands. It all hurt him, and it _hurt so good_.

They were all details held sacred in his mind, and it took him two weeks not to sully them with unrelenting yearning.

Something vile clung to his skin afterwards. Like he’d tarnished something pure. An image of holy. He’d soiled what he held highest in his altar.

Something vile constricted him inside, ached with a deep, deep sadness. A strong feeling of falling apart. It choked and it drowned him.

“Was it ever choice?” he tried. Perhaps he could fool himself into conversation instead. “Or just duty?”

“Used to be duty,” she replied as she put on her skirt. She was skinny and bony again, a marvel. Naomi choose her words very carefully. “I was relieved when you stopped, back then. I was scared of the things you could do to me, the things I’d heard about you.”

She sat on the black satin bed and stared at him. “Sometimes I wonder if they were true at all.”

“I’d never hurt- not without very good reason, at least.”

“I understand that now. That’s why now it’s a choice.” She wanted to comb her fingers through his hair, always had, but didn’t feel entitled to. He wasn’t hers to care for and she’d always known.

“What changed?”

“I’ve met men. The devil was gentler.”

He scoffed. Being called gentle stung his pride, but he knew his evil paled in comparison to what humans could achieve with barely any effort. Oh, he knew. He’d often taken credit.

“You’ve been wounded too, haven’t you?”

“How did you find me in London?”, he swerved.

“I’m drawn to you like a moth to light. I can’t explain it otherwise.”

“Got family here?”, he didn’t care.

“We’ve both been wounded by love.”

“Oh, shut it. I’m a demon. Demons don’t love.”

“Well, master Hastur certainly can’t,” she laughed without mirth. There was a silence filled with memories of fire and screams. “The voice you gave me then. It was the same, wasn’t it?”

Crowley looked away.

“I should go. Good luck, Crowley. I hope you get what you wish for. And if you don’t…” she looked at him sadly, “you know how to find me.”

Naomi left, and in spite of himself he remembered all the faceless people he had nearly bedded over the years.

_“Stop, stop. It doesn’t feel right.”_ , he’d told one.

_“You’re better than this. **I** am better than this, this, this… makeshift… thing.” _

_“You deserve better,”_ he’d told them, told himself. Over and over and over and over.

_“Fuck this, I’m a demon. I’m a fucking demon,”_ he’d tried.

In the end, it was all the same. The same face behind his eyelids, the same voice in his head. He betrayed his image over and over and over, and it had felt _so good_ until it didn’t, until it crushed him in the immense weight of guilt.

Until the demon himself was tempted by a woman that didn’t look any different from anyone else, but who was willing to become anyone for him. He could fuck her over and over and over when she wore the angel’s skin, and it felt _even better_ , a hundred times better. And when it was over he tried to push it away, push it under, drown it. This thing that clung to him, that water couldn’t wash away.

He refused to cry, but his intent was as feeble as it always had been.

“You seem different these days,” he commented lightly as he put another piece of steak in his mouth and chewed around it with intense pleasure.

Crowley wondered if he still smelled of sex regardless of how many times he bathed.

“’m not.”

“But you are. You’re very quiet and I can’t help thinking it is something I have done?”

_Oh, angel._ _Oh, dear of mine._

“Course not. I would’ve pestered you if you had.”

“Would you, now?”

“No, but maybe I would have yelled.”

“Really?”

He sighed. “No. I would have kept quiet. But it’s nothing you’ve done.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

“So what’s the matter?”

“Why— why must you assume something is wrong?”

Aziraphale eyed him carefully and didn’t say anything.

Then, as Crowley was taking a big gulp of his wine to calm his nerves somehow, he said “Is it that girl you’ve been seeing?”

He spit wine through his nose and coughed loud.

“WHAT?!?!?!”

Aziraphale smirked, and there was a tint of anger hidden away. “You could have told me, you know. We’re friends, I do believe.”

“I- no one. There is no one. I didn’t tell you because there is no one.”

“Should I take that string of dark blue hair on your jacket as coincidence, then?”

Crowley blushed crimson. It hadn’t, in his defense, looked blue nor been longer than a couple of inches when it got there.

“It is perfectly alright to share you’re in a relationship, dear boy.”

The demon looked at the ceiling and gaped stupidly. Panic.

And Aziraphale wouldn’t _shut. up._

“After all we’ve been through, honestly, I thought you knew you can confide in-”

“ _Angel!!_ Stop!! Stop. You got it all wrong.”

“Did I, now?”

“Y- Yes!! She’s just my… my… therapist.”

The angel laughed, but he was angry. He was _so_ angry! Oh, don’t you insult his intelligence…

He wanted to raise his voice and tell him he is not dumb, but he wiped his mouth slow and carefully instead.

Aziraphale was, in fact, very smart. He was cultured and spoke countless languages, many of which nobody speaks these days unless they work at a museum or teaches very specific groups. He had read most meaningful books known to Man, including the ones modern civilizations would never know after the fire that destroyed them many centuries ago. He could talk for hours about botany and biology, and literature was his favorite, favorite subject.

But for all he was clever, he could not read what was spelled in bold before him – the utter misery of him.

Crowley was miserably in love with him since endless time, and it killed his immortal soul more and more each day.

Aziraphale saw none of this, and was so blindly angry that he loved him to be his, and his only. How _dare_ he coddle a human girl, or anyone _at all_.

“She will die someday, remember. Don’t get so attached, is my advice,” he said cruelly. He would regret it later, but not just yet.

The demon snorted disbelievingly. “Wha- How- Damn, it, Aziraphale. Damn you. Godfuckingdamn you. _Fuck._ ”

He got up and left.


	2. Chapter 2

Ah, there it was – the acrid taste of regret. It burned his tongue and weighted on his mind. It made him replay his own words endlessly until he felt sick with himself.

To his dearest friend, who’d been by his side through thick and thin, such pungent words. They were true, but they were venomous, hurtful. They were _meant_ to hurt.

What moved him? What could possibly make him want to hurt him with such fierceness? Would he admit to being corroded by jealousy, with its sharp teeth tearing his insides apart?

Aziraphale spent the day munching over the bitter end of their lunch date, and figured he should drop by the demon’s apartment for as heartfelt apology as he could muster.

It has seemed like a good idea, but when he knocked and nobody answered, he started feeling stupid.

God, he felt so stupid. He turned to leave but something made him stay. He knocked again, and heard his name – so low he second-guessed himself. Had he? Or was it just wishful thinking? Was he imagining things?

He touched his ear to the door and waited. He was sure he heard it again. And again.

Was Crowley injured? Was that a cry for help?

Cold fear filled his veins and he miracled the door open, walking silent and alert into the dark apartment.

He felt the wind knocked out of his lungs when he saw a pair of eyes boring into his.

Blue like his own, staring and then closing for long seconds. _Aziraphale_.

Whenever they closed, a long throaty moan. A hoarse voice, his own voice. _Crowley. Ah._

The tug of a smirk on those lips and a hand that beckoned: come closer. Come hear. _Come._

His feet felt like lead, he wanted to run away, but they stayed grounded to the carpeted floor. The heavy smell would be forever etched onto his memory, stirring envy and arousal.

She moaned again and anger boiled in his stomach – she had no right to borrow _his_ body like that, to sullen the holiness of him. Only Crowley had that right, and _himself_. Only he could give himself to Crowley like that, so wanton and desperate in his grasp against the bedroom wall.

_Ah, Ang- Angel-_

“Say my name, _dear boy_ ,” he heard his borrowed voice.

_Aziraph- Aziraphale- Ah-_

“Harder, now.”

Aziraphale covered his mouth with both hands and walked backwards, intent on leaving. He wished he had never walked into the building, wished he never had… _what_? Stayed so long?

A very similar hand to his gestured, _wait_ , as if it said, _stay and watch. Watch him, he’s beautiful._

Oh, that he was. The little light that shone in the room landed on his back, slick and muscular with an effort he didn’t seem to mind. The way he grasped thick, creamy thighs and pulled them hard against him. He was beautiful in everything he was, _so beautiful_. The way he pushed one last time, and the way his head hung and hid away.

He wanted to be the one hugging him. The one whispering in his year, and dragging his hands over his face.

Was- was he sobbing? Was he crying? Was he imagining things, his wishing and begging Crowley to regret this insanity?

She – whoever she was – tore his head away from her chest and kissed him sweetly with angelic lips. She whispered something he could only infer as _wicked_ , because he moaned loud when she tugged at shoulder-length copper hair. Oh, how he had wanted to tangled his fingers and lose himself in him, too.

He fell tired onto his chest and knees on the bed as she – _he_ – climbed behind him. “Work your magic, love.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat when he realized Crowley would be able to see him if he opened his eyes, his tear-stained face contorted in pleasure. The angel couldn’t tear away from the sight and _oh_ , how he had envisioned this… so many times.

Just, in his visions, the demon wasn’t crying his soul out.

“Am I hurting you, dear?”

“No, keep- _ah-_ keep going.”

There was worry and kindness in the voice. “We can try this some other time, if you’re-”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. So close… so close… _ah, Angel_.”

His eyes opened slowly, and they were the most beautiful tones of hurt and pleasure.

They were shocked to find his in the darkness and for a moment Aziraphale feared his rage. How _dare_ he invade his privacy so shamelessly, to watch him like this, so vulnerable? To see him cry so openly, atrium and ventricle laid bare and exposed.

The shock subsided, and Crowley crooked his finger at him. _Come_.

“Angel,” he whispered with what was left of him. “ _Angel._ ”

_Can you see it now? Now you know. How could you not know?_

_How could I not know, dearest? How was I so blind?_

Aziraphale knelt by the bed, in front of him. He swallowed his moans in the air between them, felt his hot breath so near, then farther as he rocked back and forth. He marveled at his eyes shut tight and waited for them to open again, mesmerized. When they did, Crowley propped himself on his elbows and his hands reached out to grab his face and he was so sweet, _so sweet_.

He was on the verge of breaking, offering all of him, all that was left of him.

His lips were wet and swollen, and they tasted as good as Heaven never had. They tasted of sin and wine and lingered of that tainted, makeshift love he indulged in.

They tasted like bitter heartbreak and such sweet tenderness, like the first love of a demon. His kissed were sloppy and his tongue was slick and so, _so_ _good_.

Crowley’s lips parted and he moaned one last time, frozen in a moment of intense bliss.

Aziraphale drank all of it, eager and sincere. He licked the remains of pleasure off his lips and replaced it with his own brand of love when Crowley’s hands shifted to cover his face.

“Don’t hide,” he begged quiet, tender, “I want to see you. Let me see you, dearest.”

The demon bit his lips when his hips were released, and the springs of the mattress shifted noiselessly. Without his focus, her body shifted back to its original shape and she picked up her undergarments off the floor, trying not to disturb them.

Still, the angel followed her with his eyes, curious. “What type of sorcery is this?”

“I’m just a human girl with a penchant for witchcraft. _He_ was the one shapeshifting _me_ ,” she smirked and bent before him, close enough to smell his cologne. “He got it right down to the way you smell, the softness of your skin. The hair on your chest, the ridges in your iris. The shape of your nose and your eyelids - it was all him. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Naomi turned to Crowley, who still hid his face in shame. She pried one of his hands off, the one closest to her, and spoke softly to him. “For someone who wasn’t able to love, I’ve never seen a love so brutally honest. It tears you apart and it mends him over and over.”

She kissed his temple with fondness. “You told me not to humiliate myself and settle for anything less than what I deserve. Don’t you do it either, my darling friend. You’re not alone anymore.”

When she turned to Aziraphale, she kissed his lips. She wanted him to know.

Know what it was like to be kissed by any pair of lips, and what it was like to be kissed by someone that loved you so deeply they would rather surrender to a stranger than risk losing you. So that he would know he belonged to no one else.

“Take good care of him, Angel.”

It was the last they saw of her.

She left, and silence took the room her absence left behind. Crowley went back to crying softly behind his hands, and Aziraphale remained knelt on the same spot. His hands were wrapped around his wrists and his thumbs caressed him patiently.

His mind replayed the scenes on endless loop, and his delight was cut short when Crowley spoke.

“Please, leave,” he sobbed. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

The angel’s hands stopped moving, and his heart shattered. He swallowed.

“Leave? After all this?”

His voice was small and fragile. “Please. Don’t make me beg, I have- I have nothing left.”

“What?? How can you say that??”

“Don’t make me tell you things I don’t want to tell you. Don’t- don’t make me look into those eyes and not- _Fuck_ , I don’t even know it. I don’t fucking know it. Just—”

“I’m not leaving, my dear. Not like this. Do you need privacy to… _uh_.”

“ _Obviously_.”

“Then I’ll wait for you in the other room. But I’m not leaving, don’t you dare ask.”

Crowley sighed and nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley’s barefoot steps echoed on the hall as he approached the sofa where the angel sat waiting. Aziraphale looked up and the view was breathtaking: damp shoulder-length hair messily finger-combed to the side and black long-sleeved shirt, loose on his shoulders and exposing his collarbones. Thick droplets rolled down his back and made him shiver, either from cold or anxiety.

He leaned against the doorframe and tucked his hands under his armpits, chewing nervously on his lip. He wanted to chide the angel, demand explanations or an apology of some sort. But what he said was,

“You know, it’s perfectly fine... perfectly _acceptable_ human behavior to, to... to- when the person you’re into just… doesn’t… want, uh,” he searched desperately for words but kept hitting a wall. “I was fine, you know. Just- _fine_. I mean, I’ve been dealing with it just fine for lots and lots and lots of years, and then the whole Antichrist thing happened. I thought it was ludicrous what she was offering but— it was tempting, it was fucking tempting, and I thought I’d try and _whoa_. You would have done the same, I mean-”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, dear.”

“Damn right I don’t! Of _course_ I don’t! I just… I- _ngh_ ,” he groaned in annoyance. He’d never been particularly eloquent, but this was ridiculous.

“What made you think I wouldn’t want you? You didn’t even-”

“Well, I- you know, I- we-”

“You never told me…”

“Well you bloody didn’t either, now did you?? I had no fucking idea, Aziraphale!! I mean, what the heavens just happened?? What in Satan’s name was that?? Why were you even- what- _why_ , Angel?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks burned. “I was terribly unfair to you, my dear. I thought if you really were in a relationship with a human I had no right to criticize you. I came to apologize,” he swallowed. “I knocked!! I did knock. And because you didn’t answer I was about to leave... but then I thought- I thought I heard you call me.”

Crowley blushed deeply and averted his eyes. “Mm.”

“I thought you could be in trouble, so I miracle myself in. I shouldn’t... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... _stayed_.”

“Ya think??,” he scoffed and ran both hands through his hair. He had a hard time wrapping his mind around what had happened, how appalled he had been – and still was – at the angel’s actions. Not in a thousand years had he imagined him capable of something like _this_ , and… It angered and confused him, this thought that he didn’t quite know him, just when he was sure he had him mapped. He couldn’t help but feel he treaded a minefield, that one misstep could end it all. It left him stranded and unsure of how to navigate him.

It also lit a flicker of hope – rather, a fire that spread and consumed entire continents of him. Crowley was a walking mess of shame and, and _desire_. It burned _so good_ , and it scorched agonizingly. He was _so_ vulnerable and he hated it as much as it thrilled him.

“Come here, dearest,” Aziraphale said quietly and tapped the seat beside him. “Please.”

The demon hesitated for a moment before giving in. He supposed this couldn’t go too bad, considering the latest… _events_. So he sat sideways facing the angel, arm slouched on the back of the sofa. The angel quickly took hold of his hand and entwined their fingers.

“Crowley, I, I might… I…”

Crowley stared at their hands laced together. His thumb caressed the angel’s soft skin and his other hand removed his sunglasses.

“Aziraphale,” he interrupted and asked in a quiet voice, “are you in love with me?”

His eyes widened and his voice got caught in his throat. Aziraphale gaped for a moment too long, then

“Yes,” he breathed out.

There was a long stretch of time in which the only sounds came from the marching bands parading their chests and filling their bodies with music and benevolent riot.

Then, the silence in the room was broken.

“Okay,” Crowley whispered from the smallest of smiles, still staring at their hands. He squeezed Aziraphale’s in reassurance.

It took him a moment to look up. When he did, he seemed almost shy, and he was absolutely captivating. The smile that tugged at the corner of his lips held wonder and in the loveliest amber eyes, the brightness of two entire galaxies.

“Can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale smiled and scooted closer. His eyes closed on their own and the tint of pink on his cheeks intensified.

Crowley touched the corner of his mouth with his thumb, then dragged it over the plump bottom lip. Aziraphale’s lips parted in a sigh, a sort of eagerness bubbling inside. A shy tongue came out to wet them and Crowley quickly chased it with his.

The angel moaned, and the demon pulled back.

Then dove in again for the briefest touch. A lick of his lips, and back.

“Are you teasing me?”

“I am.”

“Why??”

Crowley smiled lopsided and shrugged. Then he did it again. On the fourth time Aziraphale’s hand latched onto his neck, keeping him grinning against his mouth.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“But you knew that already”, the demon answered by kissing him deep and thorough, rubbing against his tongue and sucking at his lips. The angel felt light-headed, something hot spilling inside him. _Love_ , he meant to name it, and it was entirely too similar to Lust – specially when he climbed onto the redhead’s lap and grinded mercilessly against him.

There had been a thousand and one different ways this could have happened, and a few ranked higher on the list of things they had imagined over the many years they’d longed for each other.

A few of those fantasies didn’t take them straight to the bedroom, in some they miracled their clothes off, unlike now, where they slowly discovered soft and creamy, freckled hot skin underneath.

Most of them hadn’t included the particular way Crowley stopped his teasing (and sometimes bruising) of nails and fingers and teeth to just _look_ at his angel. Aziraphale felt his chest burst with so much adoration, and fell in love over and over and over again.

Very few of them featured Crowley moving into Aziraphale so hard the angel couldn’t keep his eyes open nor his mouth closed, and absolutely none of them saw tears spilling from the demon’s eyes when it was over and he clung so tight his beloved had a hard time breathing.

“Are you alright, dearest?”, the angel asked in deep concern. Had he done something wrong? Was he already regre-

“It’s really you, isn’t it,” his voice wavered. “You’re really here. You’re here. _Fuck_ , it’s you. It’s you…”

“It’s me, my love. It’s me now, it’ll be me for as long as you’ll have me…”

Not one of the fantasies in which they kissed afterwards felt this sweet, because none were real. Nothing could rival the sweet reality of mingled bodies, a tangle of limbs and the softness of swollen lips clashing together until sleep claimed them into quietness.

When the night got too cold, Aziraphale woke up for the first time. He was shivering in the first hours of morning, and it took his sleep-fogged mind a moment to comprehend where he was. His face split into a smile and he snapped a thick, snug tartan duvet into existence. He let his lips wander to Crowley’s neck, where he lazily nibbled on freckled skin. It was very much like he ate his desserts, and he let the chilly skin melt on his tongue before moving to another patch to warm it up.

When the demon blinked his eyes open, the angel was already straddling him with a devious smile.

It was most definitely real.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... wanted to add... this?

When Aziraphale woke for the second time, he was alone in bed. This whole business of sleeping was too new and confusing, it made his mind hazy as if drunk, in a very delirious way. His brain struggled again to make sense of his surroundings, trying for a moment to remember where he was and why. His smile was quicker than a frown, and he sunk his face further in the pillow. Crowley’s scent was everywhere – on the pillows and sheets and the air and on him. _On him_. His heart fluttered at the thought and he allowed himself to be giddy. Arms and legs stretched on their own accord and he reveled on the feel of silk against naked skin.

He heard footsteps and looked over his shoulder to see his beloved walking back to bed smiling sweetly at him. The demon climbed back and spooned behind him, peppering kisses on his shoulder and back.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Mmm.”

“Would you like to go out for breakfast?”

“Later, yes. For now I’d like to stay here if that’s alright with you.”

Crowley hugged him tightly and kissed his neck. “Works for me.”

“I rather like this sleeping business.”

“Ah, you do now, do you?” his lips traveled to his earlobe and tugged it gently between his teeth, breath warm and voice coarse, “Didn’t even need to persuade you.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and tilted his head back, feeling waves of shiver and unexpected pleasure washing over him. “Mmm.”

A little something caught Crowley’s attention.

“You got a little scar here.”

“Buttercup.”

“Oh. Ah…”

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago,” the angel murmured.

He remembered very little of the baby kitty Aziraphale had taken in in the 60’s, as he had seen her only twice. It was cute as anything, with that ridiculous teeny tiny tartan bowtie that matched her owner’s. She passed away too soon, her existence a bright but too brief flicker.

What Crowley did remember very well was feeling so, so vile. Aziraphale telephoned him in tears and he rushed to the bookshop, miracling the door open and entering unannounced. The angel’s face was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen in six thousand years, and when he threw himself in his arms looking for solace, Crowley was stunned. Then _very_ satisfied in holding him tight for the better half of an hour while he mourned her. It was the first and only time he hugged the angel, and was never able to forget what he smelled like, even when he did try in a bottle of scotch. Still, he’d felt like a _pig_ – or rather, a _monster_ , since he didn’t deem pigs deserving of the comparison.

_He was a demon_ , he kept telling himself, and indulged in the scent of him, and did his best to soothe his angel’s sorrow.

And that was the thing.

Part of the bitterness in his treatment of him the previous day – human lives, as much as animals’, were really just a flicker of eternity. A speck of dust in a vast universe, and for an immortal being, loving them was… setting yourself up for heartbreak, in the very least. Crowley _had_ considered pursuing a relationship with a mortal a few times, but his mind never did leave Aziraphale, and the few times he went through, it was just… _messy_ , in several levels of cleanliness and emotional distress. He found it a bit too hard to be worth the trouble, then considered a pet snake or something exotic to tame the loneliness. And then Buttercup passed, and he realized he dreaded the grief if could bring. Figured there was enough heartache in his life.

He may have hugged him just a little tighter, and kept his silence.

“Is she your friend?”

“Angel, _please_. Don’t do this.”

“I just thoug-”

“I’m actually begging you. Don’t.”

“ _Fine_. I was just going to point out that I liked her.”

“What??”

“Well, she was quite… nice to you.”

“Oh now, _that_ is an understateme-”

“And that I understand.”

“What???”

“Dear boy, I’ve been in love with you since Rome. I was close to telling you many times, but if Hell ever found out, I’m not sure you could get away with your usual excuses. What I mean is,” he licked his lips. “We all make… _arrangements_ to dull the pain at some point.”

It stunned the demon into silence. As an afterthought, Aziraphale added, “I never had the same luck, though. I reckon if I had modified anyone’s body in the slightest, they would have ran away screaming.”

Crowley scoffed.

“Or asked for liposuction.”

“Or that.”

“Really, though? _You_?”

“I might be an angel, but don’t expect me to be a saint, my dear.”

“Oh yah well, yeah, you- you proved that already, I mean- _four times_.”

Aziraphale laughed, didn’t even have the decency to blush.

“No more _arrangements_ , then?”

“Only our own, my dear.”


End file.
